


i'm not a monster (i know)

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Werewolf Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier let out an almost inhuman sound, something between a howl and a yelp. “I forgot!” he shouted at first before elaborating, “The full moon is tonight.”Geralt was dumbstruck. Thankfully, he didn’t need to say anything because Jaskier continued,“I never forget! This is — your fault!” He turned, finally, and there was no missing the changes: his eyes had changed color, more amber than yellow, striking under his dark eyelashes, and his teeth were sharp, every one of them. Geralt’s head was spinning; he knew what he was seeing, but he couldn’t believe it. Why had his medallion never shook or warned him? “I’ve never been dumb enough to forget the full fucking moon, Geralt!” he continued still, gesturing wildly up at the sky. “Because that is a death wish, for me and others.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 702





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier was many things. Needy being one of them. He loved being around Geralt all the time, as much as he’d let him. It was annoying and endearing in equal parts, though Geralt would never admit to the latter.

That was why Geralt was rightfully worried when Jaskier said, “You need to leave - _right_ now.”

They were in the woods, traveling together after having not seen each other for almost a year. Geralt had admittedly missed the bard, and was confused - and unexpectedly hurt - when he said that out of the blue, an odd expression on his face.

“What, why?” he asked immediately, turning to look at him as they walked through the trees.

Jaskier stared at him, and stared, and stared, “You don’t want to know,” he said finally, looking away.

Geralt snorted and stopped, pulling Roach to a stop by her reins. She huffed and stomped, but ultimately obeyed. Jaskier took a couple more steps before he also slowed to a stop. He pointedly did not turn around. “I’m not leaving unless you tell me what’s going on,” he said, meaning it.

He stared at the tense line of Jaskier’s shoulders. “I’m running out of time, Geralt,” he said through clenched teeth. His shoulders started trembling. Geralt wanted to reach out to him, but he didn’t. “Please go. I’ll — I’ll find you when it’s over.”

“When _what_ is over?” he asked. “Jaskier, you know you can tell me, right? I won’t — ”

Jaskier let out an almost inhuman sound, something between a howl and a yelp. “I _forgot_!” he shouted at first before elaborating, “The full moon is _tonight_.”

Geralt was dumbstruck. Thankfully, he didn’t need to say anything because Jaskier continued,

“I _never_ forget! This is — your fault!” He turned, finally, and there was no missing the changes: his eyes had changed color, more amber than yellow, striking under his dark eyelashes, and his teeth were sharp, every one of them. Geralt’s head was spinning; he knew what he was seeing, but he couldn’t believe it. Why had his medallion never shook or warned him? “I’ve never been dumb enough to forget the full fucking moon, Geralt!” he continued still, gesturing wildly up at the sky. “Because that is a death wish, for me _and_ others.”

Geralt wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, but every word got caught in his throat.

“And I never — I never wanted you to know,” he continued, a bit softer. His eyes flashed, bright and full of emotion. “But when we met again, I was just _so happy_ because it’d been too _long_ , Geralt, and — and I missed you. A lot.”

His shoulders slumped. Geralt’s eyes trailed down his body, stopping at his hands. Sure enough he had claws, long and sharp.

“You know how this works,” he whispered. Geralt looked back up. “We can’t control ourselves on full moons.”

“ _We_ ,” Geralt parroted. “You mean werewolves.” It wasn’t a question.

Jaskier didn’t reply, just weakly shrugged his shoulders. The thing was, he didn’t mind — or care — that Jaskier was a werewolf, not really, but he had to ask the important question.

“Have you killed before, Jaskier?” he asked, blunt as ever and dreading the answer.

Jaskier’s eyes flashed again, full of emotion. “I have not!” he exclaimed quickly. “I was bitten a couple years before I met you, Geralt, but I knew what what was happening. So, every night after, I chained myself up in the woods to stop myself from…” He looked down. “Well, from killing. I — I didn’t want to do it. I never _asked_ for this, Geralt.”

Geralt stepped forward, and felt his heart sink when Jaskier flinched, like he expected a sword to the gut. He took a deep breath. “I’ll help you,” he said without even having to think about it.

Jaskier looked up in shock. It was weird seeing the bard without his trademark blue eyes. “You — you _will?_ ”

“Yes,” he replied simply. “Come on.”

Geralt asked Jaskier if he had the chains with him, and he didn’t. “I told you,” he said, looking embarrassed, cheeks pink, “I forgot.”

“Okay,” he sighed heavily. That made things a little harder. “We’ll have to make do with _this_ ,” he said, pulling rope out of his bag. At least it was thick stuff, made for constricting humans and monsters (weak ones, preferably without claws and teeth).

Jaskier sat down near a tree, back pressed against it, and Geralt tied him up.

It was weird as fuck, and Geralt said as much, “This is weird as fuck.” Jaskier laughed lightly. He was turning more by the second; his jaw had grown hairy, and so had the backs of his hands. His nose kept twitching. “I never thought I’d be tying you up.”

“Same,” Jaskier replied before adding, “Not under these circumstances, at least.”

Geralt paused for a second. “You said you were turned,” he muttered once he was finished, stepping back and sitting down. “Two years before you met me, right?”

Jaskier nodded, tilting his head back and forth. “I was sixteen.”

Since he’d been turned, and not born, Geralt knew the ropes would probably be enough — turned werewolves were weaker, and also only turned to half-wolves, not full ones. He shifted, getting comfortable, because he had no intentions of leaving Jaskier.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” he asked. There was no missing Jaskier’s frown.

“I was manipulated and used like a toy,” he said simply.

Geralt wanted to respect his wishes; he obviously had no interest in talking about it. But his curiosity was insatiable; in all his wildest fantasies, even ones where he thought perhaps Jaskier wasn’t human, he never thought he’d be a werewolf. It just wasn’t fitting, but then again it hadn’t been Jaskier’s choice and he had made that abundantly clear. “By who?”

Jaskier looked at him. The full moon was soon. “A man visited my city. He was older, and I was just realizing I was interested in both men and women.” And _that_ was also news to Geralt, but also not very surprising. He tried to keep a blank face. “He convinced me I would regret not spending a night with him, that he could show me what I’d been missing.”

Geralt put a hand up. He could taste his anger, like bile in the back of his throat. “How _old_ was this man?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier looked down. “Older, by a lot.”

Geralt barely suppressed a growl. “Go on.”

“He told me to meet him in the woods, after dark. I was so fucking stupid, Geralt. I went, and he had no interest in me, not like that. When I realized what was happening, I ran for it. But, well.” Jaskier sighed, closing his eyes. “He was faster. He grabbed me, threw me down. He bit my shoulder and it was some of the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life.”

Geralt watched as tears gathered in the corners of Jaskier’s eyes. His stomach lurched painfully. “But most humans who are bitten do not turn,” he said. “You’re lucky you survived.” But Geralt knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words had left his mouth. Jaskier glared at him, and for once in his life Geralt was actually intimidated by the bard.

“You don’t understand,” he snarled. “Once a month, I am a literal _monster_.”

Geralt reached out and placed a hand on Jaskier’s leg. “You are not a monster. You are a werewolf who has never killed.” Jaskier stared at him. His eyes flashed. “You’re turning,” Geralt said. It wasn’t a question; he’d encountered enough werewolves to know, but most of them he had killed. Jaskier would have to be an exception.

Geralt could never kill him. Not even if he did attack him or an innocent, and he should’ve been ashamed but he wasn’t. He squeezed his leg.

“Let go,” he said. “It’s okay; I won’t let you do anything you’ll regret.”

A few tears spilled down Jaskier’s cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a howl, tilting his face toward the night sky. Geralt pulled his hand back and watched with a frown as Jaskier thrashed and pulled against his restraints. He wanted to help him, but there wasn’t much he could do. He looked away and waited, counting the seconds, ignoring Jaskier’s howls of pain and thrashing.

Finally, it was morning. Jaskier slumped, limply, and Geralt stood up, untying him. He brushed some sweat-slick hair out of Jaskier’s forehead before setting out the blanket and placing the bard on it. He went to stand up to find something for breakfast, but Jaskier wasn’t asleep, evidently, because he grabbed his wrist and begged, “Stay.”

Geralt hesitated. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Werewolves were usually starving after a full moon, especially if they hadn’t fed on anything.

Jaskier looked up at him without answering. He was flushed, cheeks pink, and there were dried, crusty tears on his cheeks. Geralt sat down.

Jaskier wiggled closer, burying his face in Geralt’s thigh. “I never wanted this,” he muttered quietly. If it wasn’t for Geralt’s enhanced senses, he probably wouldn’t have even heard him. He reached down, combing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

“I know,” he said. “But you don’t have to hide it from me anymore, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, tilting his head. Geralt could see the small hint of a smile on his face. “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve been thinking,” Geralt started a week later. “Do you want to find him?”

Jaskier was walking ahead of him, strumming his lute. He stopped at Geralt’s question and turned. “What are you talking about?” he asked, but there was an odd tilt to his lips. “Find _who?_ ”

Geralt swallowed, feeling unexpectedly nervous — he didn’t feel that way very often. “The werewolf,” he said, speaking slow. “The one who — ”

“No,” Jaskier interrupted sharply. “No, I don’t.”

Geralt should’ve expected that, but he had the feeling Jaskier was misunderstanding. “I want to kill him.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “Wh — what?” he stammered. He walked over, looking at Geralt like he was crazy. “Why?” he asked, searching his face for answers.

“He turned you, Jaskier, without even asking for proper consent — ”

Jaskier smiled for the briefest of seconds, “Wait, is that, like, a _thing?_ Consenting?”

Geralt paused. “Yes,” he said finally. “Some werewolves ask consent from their victims. The ones they wish to turn, at least.” Jaskier watched him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s complicated,” he finished lamely, “and not my point.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said, but Geralt knew the conversation wasn’t over. “I still don’t fully understand.”

Geralt nodded. “He took advantage of you when you were still just a kid. Do you really think you were his last victim?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “From the sound of it, he’s probably a danger to society in more ways than one. It’s not just for you, Jaskier. I want to kill him to save others from a similar fate.”

Jaskier looked down, shuffling his feet. Geralt waited patiently, not pushing.

“Do you really think he turned other kids, too?” he asked finally, quiet.

Geralt breathed out, hard, through his nose. “Yes,” he answered honestly. “Before, and after you.”

Jaskier squared his shoulders, looked up. “Okay,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

They changed direction, headed toward Jaskier’s childhood home. It was the werewolf’s last known spot, and Geralt hoped for some clues to his current whereabouts. Geralt realized, before now, he hadn’t known much about Jaskier’s childhood. While they traveled, Jaskier told him about it. He wasn’t an only child, surprisingly.

He apparently had two older brothers but Jaskier was not close with them.

“They bullied me a lot growing up,” he explained flippantly. “Probably because I loved poetry, and wasn’t straight.” Jaskier laughed, obviously forced. “They pushed me around a lot, called me… ugly things. You know what, not important. They moved when I was fifteen.”

Geralt found himself irrationally angry on Jaskier’s behalf. “Too bad,” he remarked darkly.

His intentions hung in the air, clear and unspoken.

Jaskier glanced at him, something soft in his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Too bad.” Looking away, he continued, “My father passed away a couple years before that. My mother… I haven’t spoken to her in years; she’s likely passed away, too.”

Geralt frowned, slowing. “Jaskier, we don’t have to do this,” he said. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to,” he replied, looking back at him. “But I need to.”

Geralt nodded, understanding. “Okay. But we should probably stop for the night. It’s getting dark.”

Making camp in the middle of the woods, Jaskier placed the blanket on the ground, smoothing it out. Geralt busied himself with making a fire. Once it was roaring, he walked off to find them something to eat. He returned to Jaskier sitting on the blanket, legs pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knees, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked gruffly, placing the deer near the fire. Jaskier startled, looking up. “You look…”

Jaskier smiled, an amused quirk of his lips, “Think before you speak,” he said with a playful wink. “Or did you forget I can rip out your throat?”

Geralt sat near the fire, “But you won’t,” he said, seriously. “Because you’re not a killer, Jaskier.”

He knew he needed to prepare and roast the deer, but later. This was more important. Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip, not quite looking at him. “I’m not,” he agreed slowly, “but I easily _could_ be. If you hadn’t been there to help me, Geralt…” he trailed off, closing his eyes. “Fuck, I could’ve — ”

“But you didn’t,” Geralt interrupted, not unkindly. “None of this is your fault, and you know it.”

Jaskier opened his eyes. “I never considered… I might see the man who turned me again.” He fidgeted with the ring on his finger. “I — I don’t know how I might feel. I read, once, that werewolves of the same pack feel… connected to each other or something.”

He looked scared, Geralt realized. He scooted closer, placed a hand on his ankle. “They can,” he said. “But you can also fight it. You’re strong, Jaskier.”

“Am I?” he asked, small and quiet.

Geralt suddenly wanted to hug him. So he did; he scooted even closer, wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier seemed surprised, but happy, quickly relaxing. “Werewolves are naturally drawn to kill, Jaskier,” he said, burying his face in his hair. “Not just on the full moon — that’s just when the urge is the strongest — but you resist it, every single day. Because you know it’s wrong. That takes strength, and a lot of it.”

Jaskier turned his head, looking up at him. “What happens if you kill him?” he asked, almost hopefully. Geralt knew what he was going to ask next; it was a common myth. “Will I be turned back? Will — ” he let out a deep breath. “Will I be human again?”

He wanted to say yes, because he knew that was what Jaskier wanted to hear, but he couldn’t.

“No, Jaskier,” he said softly. “There’s no turning you back. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier nodded, frowning. His eyes were wet. “I think I knew that,” he admitted. “Just — had to ask.”

Geralt rubbed his arm. “But you’ll be okay,” he assured him, “because I’ll be there for you.”

They reached Jaskier’s hometown a few days later. They went around, asking about the man. Jaskier told Geralt his name — Varkin. None of the townsfolk had seen him in years, but he had apparently stuck around a couple years after Jaskier had left at sixteen, the same year he was turned. By the end of the day, Jaskier was exhausted and angry.

“We’ll never find him,” he said, stomping to the inn. “Why did we think it’d be easy?”

Geralt grabbed his arm. “ _We_ didn’t,” he corrected. “I called in reinforcements.”

Jaskier tilted his head curiously. “Um, what?”

“I sent a letter,” he said, unsure of how Jaskier would react. “Yennefer told me how — said if I uttered a certain phrase, the letter would always find her.”

Jaskier reacted badly. Geralt had expected that. “I don’t want her help,” he hissed, ripping his arm out of Geralt’s grip. “I don’t even want her to _know_.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t tell her,” he replied, meaning it. Jaskier looked surprised, visibly relaxing. “We need her help with a locator spell, Jaskier. She doesn’t need the details.”

“And you think she’ll help?” he asked skeptically.

Geralt shrugged. “It’s worth the effort,” he said. “It’ll make things a lot quicker, and easier.”

Jaskier chewed on the inside of his cheek. He finally nodded. “Okay. I trust your judgment.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started off in the direction of the inn again. Geralt stood there for a moment. He barely realized he was been smiling until Jaskier called back to him, “Coming or not? And _what_ is with that weird look on your face?” He laughed, shaking his head, and jogged up to join Jaskier.

Yennefer arrived two days later. She stood with them in their room at the inn. “You want my help and yet won’t tell me with what?” she asked, unimpressed, hands on her hips. “How is that fair?”

Jaskier looked away, arms folded over his chest. Geralt wrapped an arm around his shoulders, a silent comfort. Jaskier smiled at him, small but sincere.

Yennefer watched them. “Hmm. Okay, why the fuck not?” she said with a deep sigh. “I’ll do it.”

“Wh — what?” Jaskier replied, looking at her. “You will? Why?”

She shrugged primly. “I want to. Question my reasoning again and I’ll take it back. Got it?”

Jaskier nodded quickly. “Um. Okay. Fuck.”

Yennefer performed the locator spell and surprisingly Varkin wasn’t far; just a few towns over. Jaskier marked their map and rolled it back up.

“Now,” Yennefer said. “I want a moment with Geralt.” She raised her dark eyebrows. “ _Alone_.”

Jaskier hesitated. “Why?”

“It’s my payment,” she said, purring. She opened the door with a flick her of her wrist. “Out.”

Jaskier frowned. Geralt wrapped an arm around him again, rubbed his arm. “Just go. We won’t be long.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier said, shoving the map in his bag. “Fine.” He turned on his heels and stomped out of the room. Yennefer closed the door without leaving her spot.

Geralt turned to look at her. “I’m not sleeping with you,” he said without missing a beat. He didn’t even know why he said it; he had slept with her before, more than once, and enjoyed it but for some reason he really wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t think too hard about why.

Yennefer — surprisingly — just threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, I know,” she assured him. “I was just fucking with your little bard.” She stepped closer, silent for a long moment. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Gods, you don’t even see it yet, do you?” she asked, more to herself than anything.

“Know what?” he asked, genuinely confused. Yennefer turned away. “Know _what_ , Yen?”

She turned on her heels. “You’re a fool, Geralt. Too much of a fool for me, but perhaps not for him.”

He frowned. “Yen, you’re being cryptic again,” he said blandly. “You know how I hate that.”

Yennefer grinned like a shark. She stepped closer again, nodding at the door without looking away from Geralt. “You have feelings for the poet, do you not?”

Geralt opened his mouth, but all his words caught in his throat. Because somehow _no_ felt like the wrong answer. Geralt’s stomach did something funny. “I — ” he stopped, looking away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he _did_ , he realized. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment if he tried, but he had developed unexpected feelings for the bard somewhere along the way.

He had simply buried them down deep, not wanting to touch them. But now Yennefer was ruining things, as she was prone to do.

“You do,” she purred. “And you know I’m right. You should be honest with him.”

Geralt looked at her. “I’m not good at that,” he said. “Being honest about… these kinds of things.”

Yennefer patted his chest. “Oh, I know,” she assured him. “But there’s a first for everything, right?”

He looked away, didn’t answer. Yennefer shrugged, and seconds later he heard the portal.

Traveling to the other town, Geralt told Jaskier to wait at the inn. He didn’t want to. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Geralt said, a little too honest.

Jaskier hesitated. “Okay.” But when Geralt turned away, Jaskier grabbed his arm, stopping him. His eyes were earnest. “Be safe, okay?”

“I — ” Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wanted to kiss him. _Fuck_ Yennefer and her prying. He gently shook his hand off. “I will be,” he assured him, meaning it. His swords were heavy on his back. “I’ll be back soon.”

Geralt found Varkin surprisingly easily; it was like he’d known he was being hunted. Like most werewolves, he was cocky. Geralt led him out of the town, through the woods, not wanting casualties. They stopped near a stream.

Varkin smiled, all sharp teeth. “You’re not one of my creations,” he said. “Are you?”

He pulled his sword out. “No,” he confirmed. “I’m not.”

Varkin eyed him up and down, sizing him up. He hummed. “No, you’re not,” he agreed. “A hunter, then?” He paused. “Oh, yes, you are,” he said, never waiting for Geralt’s answer. His eyes sparkled with mischief. Geralt’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. “But that’s not why you’re here, _is_ it?”

He didn’t answer. He rushed forward, aiming for the werewolf’s neck. Varkin laughed wildly and jumped out of the way, shifting. Not all the way; he was a mix between a man and a wolf.

But he was obviously a purebred, considering he had turned Jaskier and only they could turn others.

“You’re here out of anger,” Varkin said, sounding far too amused. “I can taste it. You’re unbelievably angry.”

Geralt growled, low in his throat. He rushed him again, barely missing. Varkin jumped back a few feet.

“Did I kill one of your loved ones?” he asked, but then, “Or… did I _turn_ one of them?” Geralt’s eyes flashed with anger. Varkin grinned wildly. “I _did_ ,” he continued brightly. “Who was it?” Geralt threw himself at him again, and he spun out from under the blade. “Come on,” he urged. “Tell me.”

Geralt would not give him the satisfaction. But then Varkin sniffed the air, and he grinned, even bigger.

“I _smell_ him,” he breathed. “Oh, it’s been _decades_. How is the little poet holding up?”

Geralt rushed forward. Angry; he’d never been _angrier_. He moved fast, pretending to aim for the wolf’s neck again. Varkin went to block him, but it was too late — he changed aim at the last second, swinging for the wolf’s legs. Varkin yelped in pain and fell. Geralt stood over him, pressing the tip of his sword to the soft, hairy skin of his neck.

“Julian is doing fucking _great_ ,” he growled. “Thanks for asking.”

Then he shoved his sword through the flesh of the wolf’s neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt returned and Jaskier was asleep, curled up in the bed, snoring softly. He hoped to sneak back out and take a bath without waking him, but —

“Geralt?” he asked quietly, sitting up. “Wh — what time is it?”

He stepped closer, closing the door. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “You should go back to sleep.”

Jaskier looked him up and down. Geralt knew what he was looking at: he was covered in dirt and blood. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. Jaskier finally asked, “Did you find him?”

“I did,” he answered. “He’s dead, Jaskier.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but tears weren’t it. Jaskier’s eyes watered, too fast, spilling down his cheeks. Geralt rushed over and sat on the bed, pulling him closer. Jaskier slumped against him, burying his face in his chest.

“I’m not sad,” he said through sobs. “I — I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Geralt rubbed his back. “It’s normal; I just killed part of your pack. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know, but — ” Geralt gently shushed him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He hoped Jaskier couldn’t feel it. “Go back to sleep,” he said, not unkindly but firm. “You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll be here.”

Jaskier nodded. “Will you stay?”

“I should — ” but he stopped himself. He could wash off in the morning. “Yeah, of course.”

Geralt opened his eyes; he was first one up — not surprising. Jaskier was in his arms, head on his shoulder, snoring lightly. He wanted to reach out to him and touch him, but that wasn’t something he was allowed to do ( _yet_ , his brain supplied, sounding suspiciously like Yennefer, _just tell him_.)

He took a deep breath and that was seemingly enough to wake Jaskier, eyelashes fluttering.

“I don’t — feel so good,” he said with a groan. “Like, my whole body hurts.”

Geralt nodded. Finally, he allowed himself an indulgent and brushed some hair out of Jaskier’s face, “That’s normal,” he assured him. “Just another werewolf thing.” It was sad that Jaskier understood so little about himself, all because of a selfish man. “Shouldn’t last much longer than a day, _and_ a bath should help.”

Jaskier sat up. “Can you…?” he asked, nodding at the door, looking impossibly small.

Geralt would’ve done anything for him in that moment, and it was a terrifying, but freeing realization. Again, fuck Yennefer. He nodded and stood up, disappearing out of the room to find the innkeeper. He asked her to draw a bath and she scurried off. When he returned, Jaskier was standing in front of the mirror in the room, studying himself with an odd look on his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked in mild amusement, approaching.

Jaskier shrugged, “I don’t know.” He took his shirt off, sudden and fast, and Geralt pointedly did not look below his neck. Jaskier gently brushed his fingertips over his shoulder. “This is the spot,” he said, so soft Geralt barely heard him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unsure what to say. Not to mention, he _was_ sorry. Jaskier deserved better.

Jaskier leaned his head on Geralt’s shoulder, and he tensed. Jaskier quickly lifted his head back up, looking hurt. Geralt’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. “Don’t be,” he said softly. “This isn’t your fault.” He squared his shoulders. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I would do it again,” he said, blurting the words without a second thought. “And again.”

Jaskier looked at him and smiled, small and sincere. His eyes were so bright, so blue. Geralt wanted to never look away again, not even for a second. It wasn’t possible, of course, and he knew that. But maybe he could have the next best thing.

Geralt took a deep breath. Yennefer’s words echoed in his mind: _be honest with him._ He could do that. He had to do that, not just for Jaskier but himself. Geralt had loved before, and he had held back out of fear, and each time he had regretted it. This time would be different; he would be brave enough for the both of them.

He had no idea if Jaskier felt even remotely the same way, but it was worth trying. Worth the risk.

He opened his mouth, “Jaskier, I — ”

There was a knock at the door. Jaskier grabbed his shirt and slipped it back on, walking over. It was the innkeeper, smiling brightly. “Your bath is ready.”

Jaskier nodded, “I’ll be right there.” He turned, biting his bottom lip. “Were you going to say something?”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “It’s not important,” he said. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said, tilting his head curiously. “If you’re sure.” Geralt nodded curtly and watched, feeling defeated, as Jaskier turned and left the room.

Geralt washed off after Jaskier and soon they were both at the local tavern, eating breakfast. Geralt watched Jaskier, waiting for the right moment to tell him. But he realized, fairly quickly, there would never _be_ the perfect moment.

Life was not like that; perfect moments didn’t just pop up, they were _made_. By choices, and actions.

So, after they finished eating, Geralt suggested they go for a walk through the woods. Jaskier looked at him funny. “The woods?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, feeling foolish and silly. “The woods.”

Mostly he just wanted privacy, and the inn didn’t seem like the best backdrop for such an important confession. Because that was exactly what he was doing: _confessing_.

Jaskier’s eyes sparkled with something akin to amusement. “Um, sure.”

At least he seemed to be feeling better. After paying, they left the inn and walked to the forest. There was a path through the woods, obviously well-traveled. Geralt led the way, though he had no real destination in mind. Jaskier followed, silent for once.

“Do you smell that?” Jaskier asked finally.

Geralt paused, looking over at him. He was sniffing the air. _Right_ , he realized, Jaskier probably had smell that rivaled his own if not better. He looked around and sniffed; sure enough he could smell it, something sweet. “What is it?”

Jaskier grinned brightly and took off. Geralt hesitated for barely a second before he took off after him. Jaskier served through the trees, off the path, and only stopped when they reached a clearing full of — flowers of all different kinds.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Jaskier turned to look at him, still grinning. He looked beautiful and the backdrop had almost nothing to do with it. “Look,” he said, rushing over and picking a flower — a dandelion. Geralt remembered once being told they weren’t actually flowers but weeds; he had never thought much of it until this moment. As beautiful as they were, how could they be anything _but_ flowers? Walking over, Jaskier tucked the dandelion behind one of Geralt’s ears, laughing softly. “You look _ridiculous_ ,” he said fondly.

Geralt let out a sharp breath. “You look beautiful,” he said, a little fast, meaning every word of it.

Jaskier stopped laughing. He stared at Geralt, wide-eyed. “Um. Sorry, I think I misheard — ”

“You didn’t,” he interrupted gently.

Jaskier blinked, once. “But you said — ” He stopped, looking away and back again. There was something in his eyes that Geralt found himself clinging to, something that looked scarily like _hope_. He smiled, slow and only half-forced. “Geralt, I’m really confused here and after everything I just had to go through I would prefer if you didn’t make me think too hard about what the fuck is going on, considering if I didn’t know better I’d say you — ”

“I am,” Geralt said. His hands shook. “I’m in love with you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “I was going to say you had feelings for me,” he muttered. “ _Love?_ ”

“It’s the truth,” he replied. The dandelion fell from his ear; neither of them noticed, too focused on each other. He took a step forward. “I’ve felt this way for… a while,” he admitted quietly. “But I always hid it, pushed it down deep because I — I’m not good at any of this, Jaskier.” Jaskier just stared at him. He was grateful not to be interrupted, but also wanted some reassurance, any at all. But he was being brave and that meant going all the way. “And on top of that, I thought you were _human_. I didn’t know what I’d do if I told you, and you died in a few years, a couple months, a _day_.”

Jaskier reached out, suddenly, placing a hand over Geralt’s heart. He stared up at him. “What the fuck?”

Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

“I thought — ” Jaskier laughed, a strangled thing. “I thought I’d never — Fuck, Geralt.” His hand fell from his chest. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you in that gross fucking tavern, but I thought I didn’t stand a chance. I mean,” his eyes crinkled, “ _look_ at you.”

Geralt frowned, “What does that mean?”

Jaskier laughed again. “It’s — don’t worry about it; it’s a compliment.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking almost shy. Geralt wanted to eat him up, which was ironic, considering _he_ wasn’t the werewolf. “What I mean to say is: I feel the same way.” He stepped closer; their chests inches apart. Geralt could smell him. He smelled like dandelions and oak and honey. “And right now I really, really want to kiss you. If that’s, like, an option.”

Without replying, Geralt leaned in and gently pressed their lips together. Apparently, Jaskier had different plans. He nipped at Geralt’s bottom lip and licked inside the other’s man mouth, dirty and messy. When they separated, Geralt was hard in his trousers.

“You don’t know,” he panted, “how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

Geralt smiled, small but sincere. “I think I do,” he replied, meaning it.

Jaskier leaned back in, their noses bumping together, “I want to do that again, and again, but…”

“ _But?_ ” he prompted, reaching down, putting his hands on Jaskier’s waist.

Jaskier slumped against him, sudden and heavy. Geralt easily held him up. “I’m feeling a little faint,” he admitted sheepishly. “Just, you know, werewolf things.”

Geralt laughed, unable to help himself, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, not caring if he felt it. “We should probably head back,” he said, muffled by his hair. Jaskier whined, obviously displeased, but Geralt just laughed again. “We can come back tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I’m unhappy about,” he replied, face buried in Geralt’s chest, “and you know it.”

Geralt smiled, looking out over the field of flowers. Yeah, he did know and he was fucking ecstatic.


End file.
